Backstreet Boy

|Chapter 10: Old Flames|

Isabella

Considering the place I had to drive to one Jason's uncouth demands was still located in Marble Valley, it didn't take much to have to be untruthful to Mother and lie when informing her I was going to go to Lizzie's to pick up my Chemistry book she was borrowing from me.

I also had to say there were a few math problems I was stuck on so she'd assist me with those.

Mother's eyes narrowed with one arm over her stomach and her other hand reaching up to gently brush against her defined jaw and cheek bones. "And you're just going to Lizzie's? You won't be long?"

"No, Mother. I'll be back shortly – hopefully. I don't know how long these problems will take," I compromised.

Hesitant, she caved in and relinquished. "Fine, but I don't want you there long."

It was about an hour and a half later when I finally got home. Throughout the drive from Jason's house in Downtown District to my own in Marble Valley, I had time to settle into a profound state of contemplative delirium. Prints were on my body from where Jason's body was against mine and they were prickling at my skin. It felt raw and hot. Then I got home and took a shower. I hardly wanted to scrub the remains of the night off.

It was the next morning in homeroom where I found myself beginning to dose off. Lizzie was repetitively nudging me in the ribs to jolt me awake. It was only when a group of lads came strutting into homeroom fashionably late, despite our homeroom tutor, Mr Tinker grumbling. The lads caught my attention because one of them was just staring consistently at me. And that just so happened to be Miles Holdon.

"Is he staring at you?" Lizzie whispered, leaning into me.

"I think so," I muttered back.

Even though Mr Tinker was perceptibly infuriated by their late arrival, he told them all to sit down. As Miles filed behind in the line, his eyes remained on me until he passed and turned the other way to sit down. As Mr Tinker progressed on with the register, I turned back to Lizzie speculatively.

"It ended three months ago, we've had minimal contact, and all of a sudden he's gawping endlessly at me?"

Lizzie shrugged. "I guess I could ask Matt to find out. They're still good friends."

I thought about it for a moment. "Alright, thanks."

The bell chimed a few minutes later and I set off for my destination which was Textiles – a lesson devoid of Lizzie, Matt, Miles and the rest of his football and soccer friends. I was sat at my desk, surveying my fabric and sketched decisions for a dress I was designing. This is the final project and this dress and all the coursework for it goes towards half of my final grade.

"Keep focused," Mrs Philip declared quietly, patting my shoulder. "You're doing great, Isabella, and you're on track. Actually, I'd say you're exceeding and you're working quicker than I anticipated."

"Thanks, Miss," I replied, smiling up at her.

With a final pat, Mrs Philip marched off to the girl sat a few chairs down from me. Considering it was only a small class in a typical-sized room, it was a little disproportionate. Therefore, there were countless vacant seats around the room and in project time that was used to our advantage considering it meant an enhancement in our productivity and attentiveness levels. It left minimal room for disruption taking into account that everyone in this room actually wanting to do this lesson and wants to learn rather than cause disturbance and enable for their work ethic to degenerate.

My fabric was discarded to the side of me and in its place were my sketches. I had two different pencil cases. One was specified to my Textiles work and was always located in my folder which was leaning against the table next to me. I rummaged through it to retrieve it. Inside it was full of a diversity of pens and pencils of a variety of colours. They ranged from biros to felt-tips to fine-liners.